Far From Perfect
by otherhawk
Summary: Set midseason one. After a difficult day, Ianto and Jack go out for a a nice, friendly drink that may or may not be something more. What could possibly go wrong? Warning for slash and violence. Chapter 4 Journeys, arguments and making plans.
1. Chapter 1

This is a piece that I put up on Livejournal a while back, and am now in the process of completing. I realised I never had got around to putting it on ffnet and decided I might as well.

Disclaimer - I don't own Torchwood, Doctor Who or any characters therein. The BBC giveth and the BBC taketh away. Blessed be the name of Russell T Davies.

* * *

Ianto was almost certain that it wasn't actually a date. It was more a friendly drink after work, except with flirting. But then, where Jack was involved, there was always flirting. And if he was flirting back, well, that was just to keep Jack amused, stop him from brooding too much. He was just watching out for his boss. It was almost part of his job, if he thought about it. He did think about it, and downed his drink quickly.   


Setting the glass back down on the table, he caught Jack frowning at him. "What?" he asked, surprised and defensive.

"Nothing, just…let me get you another." He had heard the hesitation in the older man's voice, and wondered what Jack had been about to say.

He started a little, as Jack clasped his hand for a second, before taking his empty glass and heading for the bar. The shiver that he felt was just a result of the alcohol, and the fact that he hadn't been touched by anyone for so long now. And it wasn't like how it had been with Lisa, it really _wasn't_.

Lisa had been perfect. Ianto didn't believe in love at first sight, but from the first time he had seen her he had known that she was amazing. The first time they had gone out together, just a drink after work to help block out the ghosts of a particularly bad day, he had known that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He hadn't said so of course. Last thing a smart successful woman like Lisa should want is an obsessive Welshman hanging round her. But she had. She had and he'd gotten to experience what he knew now would be the best time of his life, with her. She had been perfect. She'd been brilliant, but not arrogant, not convinced that she always knew what was best. And she'd never kept secrets from him.

He watched Jack, come back from the bar, carrying two pints, and collapse into the couch next to him. Privately Ianto wondered how he could do that without spilling a single drop. Not a talent he'd ever known any other human to have. He took the proffered glass silently.

"Why does nothing good ever come through the rift." Jack complained into his drink. "We get Weevils all the time, but I've never caught even one, solitary glimpse of a bottle of Neoterran Bourbon."

Ianto took a long swig of his beer and avoided asking exactly what Jack was talking about. The only known way to shut Jack Harkness up, was to ask a direct, personal question. And Ianto wasn't in the mood to sit in silence for the rest of the night.

Settling his glass back on the table, he turned to offer some teasing remark, only to be completely distracted by the feeling of Jack's fingers stroking against his lips. He jerked back, and watched Jack lick each of his fingertips in turn.

"You had a little foam on your mouth. I was just getting it off for you." the Captain said, in what could be considered an attempt at innocence.

Ianto felt his face burn, horribly aware of the stares of the people around them. He wondered if Jack was aware of the glares. He wondered if the crowd of raucous yobs behind them had seen anything. He wondered if Jack even knew that not all attention was good. And he wondered if Jack would, please god, touch him again, cos no-one else ever did, not for months, not since London, and even if it was just Jack, and so by definition didn't mean anything, it felt like heaven fallen to earth.

He cleared his throat and looked away. "So," he began, too brightly, "How are Cardiff City getting on?"

As if Jack had sensed his discomfort, he began a long, and slightly rambling explanation of the team's latest victories and setbacks, encompassing a switch to 4-3-3, the dropping of the useless Belgian, and, slightly incomprehensibly, the theory that Weevils might be influencing the away score. Ianto let his mind wander, nodding and interjecting what he hoped were pertinent comments whenever Jack stopped for breath. Ianto had no idea why Jack supported Cardiff City. It seemed more than a little odd, especially as during a fairly routine encounter with a rogue CIA agent, it had emerged that, despite the accent, Jack knew nothing about American sports. At all. Not even the stuff that everyone knew from watching TV. After some discussion – normally described as long, alcohol-fuelled arguments – the rest of Torchwood Three had added the whole business to the list of things that no-one knew about the Captain, and resolved to ask him if they could buy a new sofa for the Hub, if the team ever managed to win something important.

Even as he smiled enthusiastically at what Jack was saying _"….so he tackled him. And I'm standing right next to the ref, holding a pot plant, and a Geiger counter, and I hear this tearing noise, and suddenly I'm looking right up his…" _Ianto found himself closing his eyes, leaning back in the sofa, and letting the noise of the pub, and Jack's voice, wash right over him. It had been a hell of a day. From the moment he had arrived and discovered that while carrying out what he described as 'maintenance', Jack had somehow managed to set off the sprinkler system, filling the Hub with an inch or so of dirty water, he had known that it was going to be a bad day even by Torchwood standards. Might you, the sight of Jack, drenched and woebegone, unsuccessfully wielding a mop, was amusing. Would have been more so, if it hadn't been the third time this month. Apparently he was trying to integrate a piece of Byerean technology into the defence network. Ianto couldn't help wondering why the sprinklers had to be involved at all. Then Tosh came in, and, after half an hour of painstaking research, had told him that there was no way that she was going to be able to get the microwave working again, and that he would have to get Jack to authorise the purchase of a new one. By the time Owen and Gwen came in, dishevelled and five minutes apart, as though that was going to fool anyone, and proceeded to studiously ignore each other for the rest of the morning, Ianto was almost considering going home sick. The news that aliens were invading Splott was something of a relief.

Well, invasion was something of an overstatement. It appeared that four aliens, who looked like something Hieronymous Bosch might have dreamed up on a bad day, had taken over a block of flats. Ianto had no idea why. So they'd all piled into the SUV and driven off to save the day. Jack had made Ianto go too. He didn't know that 'why' either. They'd burst in, guns ready, like something out of a Hollywood blockbuster and the aliens had looked up in astonishment, then legged it. There had followed a Scooby-Doo-esque chase around the building. Who was chasing whom at any moment, seemed almost to be decided at random. Ianto had almost been enjoying himself. Until he saw Jack die, of course.

Except Jack hadn't really died. Ianto had been mistaken. The light had been poor, and he'd been a fair distance away. He'd seen Jack attempting to placate the aliens, yes, but he'd just imagined that he'd seen the alien leader lash out with his talons. He'd only dreamt that he saw Jack clutch his throat, and slump to his knees. Certainly by the time he'd got there, running faster than he'd known he could, Jack had been standing, not a mark on him, talking quietly and earnestly to the aliens. Ianto didn't know what had been said, but they seemed anxious to get away from the earth. Gwen had remarked, after they'd watched the ship fly away, and Tosh had tracked it leaving the solar system, that they'd been frightened. As if they'd seen something they didn't want to mess with. Mind you, as Owen had pointed out, they had been in Splott.

Ianto hadn't mentioned what he'd seen - what he'd _thought_ he'd seen - to anyone. He also hadn't mentioned the bloodstain on the ground where Jack hadn't fallen, which, after all, must have been there for ages, or the way that Jack had kept his coat buttoned up to the neck, even in the heat of the car, and had vanished as soon as they'd reached the hub, re-emerging in a different shirt. He had invited him out for a drink though. Just a drink. Nothing more. Just because he thought Jack had probably had a worse day than he had. And when Jack had smiled at him, really smiled, not just the usual way he smiled at everyone, suddenly the day had seemed perfect.

  


Ianto was brought back to the present when someone kissed him. Unsurprisingly it was Jack, though the small part of Ianto's mind that wasn't reeling, was surprised to note that it was a quick, and chaste kiss, not at all like the last time. "And that hadn't really happened either." he told himself firmly. He turned to stare wide-eyed at his boss.

"I've been trying to attract your attention for five minutes, and you weren't responding, so I thought I'd give you the kiss of life." Jack's face was entirely serious. He didn't look like he found anything unusual in the fact that he'd just kissed his receptionist.

"The kiss of life doesn't involve actually kissing someone, sir." Ianto found himself saying.

"Really." Jack paused. Ianto tried, and failed, to think of something to say. Jack turned away from him, apparently to stare at the half-empty glass of water in front of him. For the first time that Ianto could remember, he looked . . . vulnerable. Human. "If you ask me not to do it again, you'll never hear anything more about it."

Ianto knew that Jack was telling the truth. And he knew what he was going to say. "I'm flattered, but I'm not gay." He wasn't. And just because he liked Jack flirting with him, and touching him, just because he'd thought his world was ending when Jack had died, hadn't died, had seemed to die; well, none of that meant that he wanted Jack to kiss him, right? He opened his mouth, and was astonished, and mildly perplexed, when what he actually said was "I don't know."

Jack didn't appear to be expecting that as a response. Probably he was used to people knowing what they wanted, or at least knowing that they wanted him. "Right." He waited, apparently for Ianto to elaborate. Unfortunately, Ianto couldn't think of anything else to say.

After a few moments of silence – and it did seem like silence, for a moment Ianto thought that even the yobs at the next table are holding their breath, until he realised that they'd left some time ago – after a few moments of silence, Jack drained his glass and stood up.

"Right." he said again. "I need to be getting back. There's work to do, and a pterodactyl to feed. You want a ride home?"

Ianto stared at him, feeling like an idiot. He had no idea what Jack was thinking, not that that was unusual, but he couldn't help feeling a little hurt at the abrupt end to their conversation. "That would be good, sir." he said, stiffly.

He followed Jack out of the pub and down the street, towards the alley where Jack had parked the SUV. Neither of them spoke. Ianto tried hard not to look at Jack. This hadn't been the way he'd wanted the evening to go.

When they stepped into the alley, things moved almost too fast for Ianto to follow. He saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, but even as he turned his head, he felt Jack barrelling him out of the way, shoving him to safety. He half fell against the wall, frozen in shock. He hadn't seen the attacker on the other side. He did see the baseball bat cracking into the back of Jack's skull. He did see Jack fall. Ianto vaguely recognised the man standing in front of him, the one with the baseball bat, as one of the men from the pub earlier. He slowly realised that the rest of them were there too. They were surrounded, and it wasn't even aliens this time.

"You scared, poof-boy?" the voice was gravely, with a local accent. "You and your boyfriend gonna get it. We don't like faggots here." Suddenly, Ianto remembered how to move, and threw himself at the man who had hurt Jack. He got in a couple of good punches against the larger man, but another couple of them jumped him and he found himself wrestled to the ground, arms pinned. Twisting, he somehow managed to bite one of them on the arm. The response was quick, and for a moment, Ianto's vision blurred and he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he could see three of the thugs laying into Jack, kicking him in the ribs again and again. The two holding him were laughing. The gravely voice spoke in his ear. Ianto could feel the hot, disgusting breath against his skin.

"You're gonna watch us mark pretty boy there, then you're going to get the same."

Ianto resumed his struggles to free himself "Stop it, you bastards," he snarled, and yelped as his arm was twisted up behind his back. He hated that he was weak. He hated that he couldn't help Jack. Most of all, he hated the fact that he was hoping that Jack was going to get up and save him. Then Jack did, and Ianto almost wished he hadn't

Ianto had always known that Jack was almost inhumanly good at fighting, but he was used to seeing him against aliens, often trained and bloodthirsty aliens. This was different. This was a massacre. He watched Jack's leg snap up and winced as he saw the thug scream and fall to the ground, clutching his kneecap. By that time, Jack was on his feet, and after almost casually chopping the screamer across the back of the neck, he lunged for the nearer of his other two attackers. Ianto couldn't see exactly what happened – Jack was facing away from him- but when Jack moved away, Ianto realised that the man wasn't going to be moving for a long time, if he ever did.

The third man was clutching a lead pipe, or something, like it was a lifeline. He looked terrified. Ianto heard the snap of his wrist as Jack reached forward and took it from him. The man bolted. Ianto wished he had that option.

Jack turned and looked over Ianto's head at the men still holding him. "Let him go and walk away." Ianto hadn't heard Jack's voice sound so cold for a while. It brought back unpleasant memories. A lot of them.

"Or what?" Gravel-voice sounded terrified, but belligerent.

"Or I'll kill you." Ianto could hear that Jack wasn't bluffing. He prayed that the thugs could hear it too.

Apparently they could, because a few seconds later they let go of him, and he heard them run away. He let Jack help him up, and lead him to the car and sat shaking in the passenger seat, as Jack leaned over him and asked him again and again if he was injured. He didn't respond. He didn't look at Jack. He couldn't.

When Jack had apparently discovered that there was nothing physically wrong with him other than a few bruises he moved back, and gave Ianto breathing space at last.

"We need to call an ambulance." Ianto said, breathlessly.

"I'm fine.." Jack began

Ianto hardly heard him. "Those men out there, they need help."

"They attacked us. They could have killed you."

"And you slaughtered them, Jack. Like they weren't human. You just…" Ianto shook his head. There were tears in his eyes, and he was so angry, and he didn't even know why. "You don't even hesitate do you? You just carry on your merry way through life, leaving the dead and the maimed in your wake. It's all your fault. They'd never have come near us if it hadn't been for you flirting with me. It's all your fault. Everything." Ianto knew he was being unreasonable, couldn't believe the things he was saying, but he couldn't seem to stop. "I'd never let a thing like you touch me. The others were right. You let that child go. You, you killed Lisa. You're nothing but a coward and a slut and a killer."

There was silence for a few minutes. Ianto tried desperately to think of a way to apologise, to take everything back.

"You missed out monster." Jack said. His voice was dead. Ianto looked at him, saw the bruises on his face, saw the dark, sticky patch in his hair and the way he was slumped, as though he couldn't sit up straight. He had forgotten. When he saw Jack fighting, he'd forgotten that he could be hurt, let alone that he had been. He'd been sitting here, yelling at Jack for saving their lives, while Jack was hurting.

"Oh, god." he whispered. Jack didn't seem to hear. He tossed Ianto his mobile.

"Call the ambulance. Don't mention Torchwood. I'm driving you home."

Mechanically, Ianto did as he was told. He didn't live that far away. Not the way Jack drove anyway. By the time he snapped the phone shut, they were halfway there. By the time he had thought up, and rejected a dozen ways to say sorry, they were parked outside his flat. Standing on the kerb, Ianto looked back at Jack.

"Jack, I . . . "

"Don't worry about it. I'll see you tomorrow." Jack had slammed the door shut, and drove off in a screech of brakes before Ianto had managed to apologise.

He wondered why he hadn't taken Jack to A&E, or called Owen, or even just insisted he accompany Jack back to the Hub. He wondered why he'd just let him drive off.

He was still wondering as he sat on the couch in his empty flat and cried himself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first time in his life, Ianto went in to work late. He was normally the first one in, but he just couldn't stand the thought of being alone with Jack. It would be easier to maintain a professional façade when the others were there, and then he could try to think of some way to make Jack think that he hadn't meant what he'd said. Which he hadn't. Not really. Not all of it. At any rate, he should never have said it.

Unfortunately, he hadn't actually managed to stay in bed any longer than usual; he'd never really been a fan of lie-ins. So he had found himself standing in his kitchen, dressed in an immaculate suit, staring at a cold cup of coffee, waiting until he could be certain that even Owen would have found his way in to work. He'd had the radio on for a while, until the local news had come on, and the grating tones of the presenter had sternly announced that after a fight in the city centre fight one man had been left in a critical condition, and two more injured. No names were mentioned. Ianto knew that meant they hadn't contacted the relatives yet. He always listened to the local radio stations after Torchwood related deaths, partly because he felt it was his duty, and partly to check that whatever cover story had been concocted was working. Perhaps he half expected that one of these days he would hear them say "The body of a man in his late forties has been discovered. He was killed by an alien device, and Ianto Jones left him in a lay-by and made it look like suicide." But this hadn't been Torchwood, aliens, or monsters. This had been Jack. This had been him and Jack and a group of stupid shitheads with no idea of what they were taking on. And Ianto couldn't feel sorry about what happened to them, but he could hate what Jack had done.

He took a quick gulp of coffee and spat it out just as fast. Cold. The grounds clung between his teeth. Moderately disgusting. He really should cut down, but it was time, that was the problem. Making coffee was something he could do when there wasn't anything to do but think. Because he wasn't paid for that, not when all he could think about was Lisa (and Jack of course, but he wasn't going to even think about thinking about _him_.) It was just Lisa, and Lisa dying, and Jack killing her, and kissing him, holding a gun to his head and those men last night, oh god, and Jack suffering and dying, and Ianto couldn't stop any of it.

His phone rang. The coffee mug lay shattered on the floor. There was blood on his hands.

He glanced over at the phone. Gwen. That was . . . odd. He hadn't thought that anyone would be worried about his absence for at least another forty three minutes. Perhaps Jack had told her what had happened and she was checking if he was alright? With a shake of his head, he dismissed that possibility. Jack didn't discuss that sort of thing. Jack didn't discuss anything important. Probably wouldn't, even if you held a gun to his head and promised to kill him.

Ianto watched the phone until its cheerful tone died away. Then he washed the blood off his hands and drove to work.

  


The SUV wasn't there, he noticed as he headed in to the Hub and assumed that the team had headed off to save the world, as usual. Armageddon i would /i explain the phone call. He couldn't help but wonder when it would be someone else's turn. The door to reception had been left open, and there was no-one there. Careless, that. Last week someone had nicked a bunch of postcards. Hardly a major crime, but they had to square their budget with someone, didn't they? Or maybe not. Maybe it was just Jack, now Torchwood One had gone. What a frightening thought.

He was brought up short, when he got downstairs and saw Tosh and Gwen look up at him expectantly.

"What?" he asked, self-consciously.

"Oh great, the tea-boy. Just what we were needing." Ianto turned and saw Owen standing outside Jack's office.

"Owen," Gwen remonstrated, seemingly absently. Seemed there were more important things going on. She turned to look at Ianto. "Jack not with you?" she asked, hopefully.

It was slightly surreal, but Ianto could feel himself blushing ever so slightly. "Why should he be?" he asked, sounding a little too hostile to his own ears.

Owen snorted, then looked over to Gwen and Tosh. "No note or anything." he reported, gesturing back towards the office.

"What's going on?" Ianto asked, when no-one seemed to be about to say anything.

"Well, as you would know if you'd bothered to come in on time, both Jack and the SUV have done a bunk." Ianto blinked. His mouth had unaccountably gone dry. Jack couldn't be missing. Jack wasn't the sort of person who went missing. And he remembered what he'd said, and Jack's dead expression swam before his eyes, and the guilt welled up.

Silently he watched as Owen meandered down the stairs, to peer over Tosh's shoulder at the computer screen. "And Tosh can't get the tracer on the SUV to work."

"It was working yesterday. It might be some sort of atmospheric problem, or maybe some sort of interference…?" Tosh seemed to be hitting the keyboard a little more forcefully than normal.

"Or maybe Jack turned it off." Owen was leaning on the back of her chair now. He seemed to be the only one not taking the situation seriously.

"Or maybe the car was destroyed." Gwen was leaning back in her chair staring in to space. No-one answered her.

Ianto took a couple of deep breaths. He shouldn't necessarily panic just yet. Jack had probably got a call about Weevils in the mayor's office, or something, and gone off to deal with it. Alright, so the idea of Jack hunting Weevils when he was hurt wasn't exactly reassuring, but still. He didn't need to tell them. Not quite yet. Unobtrusively he wandered over to Owen's desk and methodically began checking the CCTV footage from last night. Images of a deserted Hub sped past, blurring in front of his eyes. After five minutes he exhaled shakily. He could sense the others turning to stare at him. Jack hadn't made it home last night. Whatever had happened, it was his fault.

"Ianto . . .?" Gwen again. Always wanting to know everything.

He didn't turn around. "We went out for a drink last night. Me and Jack. There were….we were attacked. By humans." he felt compelled to add. "Jack fought them off, but….I think he was hurt. He was." He could see their reflections in the monitor. Incredulous expressions all round, then. "He didn't get back afterwards." he added, gesturing at the CCTV images, just in case they had missed the point.

Everyone spoke at once. As far as Ianto could tell, Gwen was demanding to know about Jack, Tosh wanted to know if _he_ was alright, bless her, and Owen was insulting him. He waited until they ran out of breath then, not cringing, only with the greatest of efforts, turned round to face them. One accusing, one concerned, one just looking slightly bored.

"I'm fine." he said, simply. "They didn't really touch me."

"And Jack?" Gwen asked again.

"He got hit on the head. With a baseball bat. He'd knocked me out of the way. And they were kicking him, while he was on the ground."

"Jack must have really pissed them off." Owen commented. "Don't suppose you took him to A&E?"

Ianto shook his head dumbly.

"No, you wouldn't think of that would you. Bloody usele . . . "

"Owen, that's not helping." Gwen said sharply. Ianto couldn't help notice she was squeezing Owen's hand, though.

"Did you at least notice if he was slurring his words, or seemed to be having trouble seeing, or anything at all useful?"

Ianto shook his head again. "He was a bit quiet on the ride home." he volunteered. In the same way that space was a bit big, or the rift was a bit dangerous.

"Oh, wonderful. Jack Harkness a bit quiet? He must be dying." Ianto flinched. "And what were you doing letting him drive anywhere?" Owen continued before waving a hand, "Never mind, don't want to know. Go and make some coffee, or something."

Gwen was looking at Owen, and Tosh was studying the floor. Ianto could feel their blame. He wanted to shout at them, to say that Jack hadn't given him any choice, tell them how he had seen the monster, and made everything rotten, but he didn't – couldn't – do that sort of thing. He couldn't speak, and he daren't think. So he went and made them coffee instead.

When he returned, perfectly calm and disinterested, not at all as though he had spent the three minutes while the coffee brewed alternately choking back sobs and smacking his fist against the wall, Owen had vanished, Tosh was comparing a printout to the figures on her screen and Gwen was on the phone, saying nothing. He put a mug on each of their desks, and stood against the wall, trying to become invisible.

Gwen snapped her phone shut. "Still no answer. Do you think he's alright?"

"I'm sure he is." Tosh didn't sound particularly convinced to Ianto. "I'm trying to look for a pattern in rift activity that might have caused a problem with the systems on the SUV."

"And?" Gwen sounded hopeful.

"Nothing." Tosh threw the file down with a sigh. "I don't know what to do."

"Maybe we should put out an APB on the SUV? Get the police to help us find him?" That sounded like a good idea to Ianto, right up till the point where Jack found out and killed them all.

"Maybe." Tosh didn't seem convinced either.

Gwen's phone rang and she grabbed it eagerly. Ianto pricked up his ears hopefully. "Jack?...Oh, right, sorry….I see. Where did you say? Yes, we'll be right there." She stood up and grabbed her jacket. "Something from the police. Reports of people vanishing at a construction site. We should check it out."

Tosh stood up as well. "Owen." she called. He appeared from the dissection chamber, scalpel in his hand. Ianto frowned, they didn't actually have anything down there at the moment, did they? "Owen, we've got a case, come on."

"In what?" he asked, in what Ianto categorised as his talking-to-idiots voice. "We're not taking my car, last time it got covered in gunk."

"I've got my car." Ianto found himself volunteering. If he drove, he got to go. He didn't want to be left alone. Not today.

"Fine." They headed for the door. "You got SatNav?"

"No."

"Bollocks."

  


They drove in relative silence, and, thanks to Owen's navigation, only got lost twice. Gwen called Jack's mobile five times, getting increasingly stressed as there was no answer. And they said i he /i was compulsive.

It was fairly easy to recognise the place when they eventually found it; the gate was wrapped in crime scene tape, and there was a police car parked outside. Ianto carefully parked just next to it and they piled out, Ianto lingering to check that everything was locked up properly.

"Oy," Ianto turned to see that Gwen and Owen had been stopped in the act of striding through the gate. "Where do you lot think you're going?"

"Torchwood." Owen tried to barge past the policeman. Not necessarily the brightest idea, Ianto thought.

Sure enough, the policeman had hold of Owen, and his partner came running, and stood, looking as menacing as a woman holding a hotdog could. "Oh yeah?" Disbelieving looks aimed at them, and especially the car. "Show us your ID then. All of you." Now he was looking right at Ianto and Tosh. As far as Ianto was aware, this had never happened before. He sighed, and fished his ID out of his pocket. The others did the same, and after a brief examination, they were waved through.

"Sorry about that," the policeman said, cheerfully trotting after them. "Guess we expect something more from you lot. You know, the screech of brakes, the big black car, and that poncey bloke in the big coat walking in like he owns the whole of Cardiff."

Ianto stiffened. "He's not…" he began, then stopped as everyone looked at him. "Never mind." he muttered.

"Two men gone missing" the man continued, "Just went down a corridor to sort some wiring, and never came back. Rest of the crew's gone home. Say it's too creepy. Full of ghosts, or something. Seeing things, I think. What do you reckon it is?"

"Look," Owen spun on his heel and glared at the policeman. "Thanks, but we can handle it from here. Why don't you go and help little old ladies across the road, or whatever you do when you're not hanging round here?"

"Suit yourself." He turned to leave.

"Will you do us a favour?" Ianto asked, before he could stop himself. "If you see our car, could you let us know?"

"Been stolen, has it?"

"No!" Three voices spoke at the same time as him. "It's just….look, just give us a call, alright?"

"Alright. Have fun." He walked away.

Ianto tried to ignore the others looking at him. "I just want to know he's OK." he muttered, when the silence became uncomfortable. He felt Tosh's hand squeeze his arm. Two people touching him in as many days. That was more than in the last two months.

"We all do, Ianto." she said. He tried to smile at her, and was startled to find it was almost easy.

Owen cleared his throat. "Right, sorry to break up this little tête-à-tête, but we've got some missing people to investigate. Gwen, why don't you take the tea-boy and check round the back. Me and Tosh will get the front. OK?"

Ianto nodded, and followed Gwen round the building to the back door. Guns drawn, they burst through to confront an empty corridor. Exchanging looks, they started searching a series of empty rooms and hallways. Ianto wasn't sure exactly what this place was meant to be, but if he had to guess, he'd say a labyrinth.

"Can I ask you something?" Gwen said, after spending five minutes sneaking looks at him.

He just looked at her.

"You and Jack . . .did something happen?" Ianto's eyes widened and he opened his mouth, ready with a heated and almost-certainly-convincing denial.

"I don't mean _that_." She said hastily, actually blushing. Ianto wondered why she found the thought so strange. "I meant, did he say something? I know he can be a bit much sometimes, and I thought you might be angry with him. He doesn't mean most of what he says, you know."

Ianto studied her. He had known Jack – as much as anyone knew Jack – for longer than she had. And he was sure he knew better than most that Jack meant nearly all of what he said. How dare this newcomer, however nice, presume to be so familiar with his Captain? He caught his breath, and wondered since when he had been jealous of Gwen.

"We had a disagreement." He chose his words carefully. "It was my fault as much as his, maybe more." Amazed to discover he meant it, he carried on talking, forgetful of his audience. "It was just after the fight, I was upset and said things…"

"What things?" she interrupted.

"Not really your business." He smiled, to take the sting out of it, but she didn't seem to be listening.

"Did you hear that?"

"What?" But he could hear it now, a sort of whimpering. It sounded human. It sounded terrified. And in that instant, so was he. "Owen! Tosh!" he yelled into the headset, but there was only static in response. By the time he turned back to Gwen, she had already started running. Cursing, he followed.

He rounded a corner just in time to see her head down the left hand corridor. But the noise was surely coming from the right? "Gwen!" he yelled, and hesitated for a moment when she didn't reappear. Not faced with much choice, he cautiously advanced down the other corridor. He had to find the others.

The sound led him through a bewildering series of turns that he was almost sure he could retrace, before abruptly stopping. Ianto was left breathless, standing in the middle of a crossroads; with no clue which direction to head in. He tried to call the others again, but not even Gwen answered. Right. So he was in a large, confusing building, he'd lost his team and had no idea what had happened to them, or what to do next. He really wished Jack was here, and not just because Jack always had a plan. Biting his lip, Ianto admitted to himself that he might just feel something for Jack. It was a sort of inevitable consequence of obsession, he supposed. Hero-worship and hatred, and now, something else, something he didn't know if there was a word for. There was something moving in the corner of his eye. There were two of them. Why wasn't Jack here to save him?

Unconsciously he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and hit speed dial one. Miraculously, it was answered after two rings. Then, as Ianto held it to his ear he heard an unfamiliar voice, grumpy and sleep-filled.

_"Never know how to work these things . . . . Hello? Anyone there?" _

Ianto lowered the phone again. Tears burned in his eyes. He had never felt so stupid in his life. And that was when the alien shimmered into being in front of him and pointed a gun at his head.

* * *

So how was that? Next chapter shall contain Brigadier Alastair Lethbridge-Stewart, for anyone who watched old Who. If you didn't, well, he was the commander of UNIT in the UK in the sixties/seventies, and a friend of various Doctors. 


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter contains Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart. He's my favourite character from old Doctor Who. All you really need to know is that in the sixties/seventies he used to command UNIT - an alien-hunting organisation, was friends with, or annoyed by, most of the Doctor's incarnations, and was of the opinion that most problems could be solved by the careful application of 'five rounds, rapid fire.'

* * *

Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart groaned. It was two in the morning and some infernal pain in the arse was ringing his doorbell. He glanced over at Doris, still sleeping peacefully. She didn't hear too well these days. As the ringing continued, he wished he didn't either, so he could just roll over and go back to sleep. Grumbling, he stood up, shuffled into his dressing gown and carpet slippers, and stuck the pistol, which he absolutely was not supposed to have, into the waistband of his pyjamas. Always best to be prepared.

Slowly, he walked downstairs, wondering exactly who was leaning on his doorbell. He couldn't seriously believe that it was anyone hostile. Not that he hadn't made enemies in his long and eventful career, but most of them wouldn't think to ring the doorbell, they'd just march in and kill him. Or possibly they'd simply vaporise the house, or the whole village, or the entire planet for that matter. So it was more likely to be some emergency. For God's sake, he was supposed to be retired. He reached the door, and his tired hands fumbled with the chain. The problem was, he was a legend in his own lifetime, and with the loss of so many of the best minds in UNIT following the Slitheen debacle two years ago, his advice was more sought after now than it had been since he retired. But, he reflected, as he drew the bolt back, while he could never refuse to serve in Earth's defence, he had to find some way to make them realise that at the age of seventy-four he was just too old to be what they needed him to be.

All thoughts of UNIT, and his old-age vanished from his mind when he opened the door and came face to face with Jack Harkness, leaning against the wall as though it was all that was keeping him upright, bruised, paler than usual, dried blood caked in his hair and still with that annoying grin on his face.

"Hi, Alistair. Can I come in?" Shocked, the Brigadier stood aside, and quickly put out a restraining hand when Jack seemed inclined to fall on his face.

"Come on. Let's get you inside." Looking over Jack's shoulder, he noticed that a large, flashy black car was parked on top of Doris' begonias. There was going to be hell to pay in the morning.

He half led, and half carried Jack through to the living room, his hip protesting with every step, and deposited him on the couch. "Stay there." he ordered, and, when the American showed no immediate signs of disobedience - though lord knew how long i that /i would last - he left the room to find the first aid kit.

In the hallway, he hesitated for a moment, looking at the phone. Perhaps what he _should_ do was call an ambulance, or even call Torchwood or UNIT, and go back to bed. But he had known Jack for forty years, and at his time of life, and in their line of work, he had rather too few old friends to turn them away when they needed him. Not to mention the fact that Jack hadn't aged one day since he had met him made him wary of letting him anywhere near a civilian doctor. Instead, he headed to the bathroom, found the first aid kit, and began rifling through it, to make sure he had everything he might need. Antiseptic, cotton wool, bandages, all good.

Theirs had always been a strange friendship, perhaps based a little too much on the principal of not asking questions. He hadn't asked about Torchwood business, and Jack hadn't asked about UNIT. But more than that, he had taken all hints and avoided asking about Jack's past, and Jack had offered him the similar courtesy of not asking about the friend that he sometimes couldn't help but mention, UNIT's scientific advisor. It wasn't that he didn't trust Jack with the information, but Jack was Torchwood, and their founding objective was to stop the Doctor. Not that the Brigadier had ever seen anything to convince him that t_hat_ was possible - Lord knows, he'd never managed.

Oddly, despite the fact that the two had never met, it had been the Doctor who had really brought about his friendship with Jack. The first time he had met Jack had been on one of those rare occasion when Torchwood and UNIT had overcome their mutual dislike – well, almost – and worked together, saving the world, or in this case, Essex. They had been in the pub celebrating afterwards, when he had seen Jack flirting with the barman. Not something that the Brigadier expected from a Captain wearing the uniform of the Royal Air Force. Words had been exchanged, mostly about how if he was Jack's commanding officer, he'd see Jack court-martialled, and, preferably, shot. Later, back at UNIT HQ, still muttering about degenerate Yanks, he had been overheard by the Doctor. There had been a … conversation. The Brigadier didn't care to remember the details, but he remembered the look. _That_ one. The one that was so compassionate, so tired and so old, that looked right through him and seemed to measure every aspect of his soul. Being friends with a Time Lord could be very annoying at times. The end result had been that he'd found himself phoning Jack and apologising, and, somehow, he had never got the man out of his life since. Though it had been nice to have another human to talk to who wasn't under his command. And yes, he was fond of Jack. Two old soldiers together, even if one didn't look it, damn his eyes.

He found a pack of prescription painkillers at the back of the medicine cabinet, and headed back to the living room with his finds. Unsurprisingly, Jack had not only moved off the couch, he had found the drinks cabinet and was now leaning against the mantle piece, sipping a glass of the Brigadier's best malt. Another glass was sitting on the coffee table.

"I take it you won't be wanting these then?" the Brigadier asked dryly, holding up the painkillers.

Jack shook his head. "Best medicine humanity will ever invent." he said, holding up his glass.

"Quite." He pointed at the couch. "Sit. Stay." Jack obeyed, and the Brigadier bringing over an angle poise lamp to see better, stood behind him to get a good look at the head wound. He was slightly concerned when Jack flinched away from the bright light. "You probably shouldn't be drinking."

"It won't kill me." the Brigadier nodded slowly at the matter-of-fact confidence in his voice. One more thing not to ever ask about.

"First things first." he began, needing to know, even as he tilted Jack's head forward to examine the injury. "Are we in any immediate danger?"

Jack turned to look at him, and the Brigadier moved his hand away immediately, reluctant to risk causing more damage. "Stay still." he said sharply, before Jack could speak.

"Sorry. No, we're not in danger. Do you think I'd lead any trouble here?" Alistair sighed in relief. He didn't want to have to wake Doris up, and demand that she get to safety. Not again. He pushed Jack's head forwards again, trying to see the damage. It looked bad, but it obviously wasn't as bad as it might have been. Jack had, after all, managed to drive all the way here. "No aliens this time. No monsters. Just me."

The Brigadier ignored the bitterness in Jack's voice, as he had done any number of times over the past forty years and instead concentrated on liberally applying antiseptic, his efforts greeted with a hiss of pain. Jack would either talk about it or he wouldn't, and, with a bit of an effort, the Brigadier could be comfortable with either one. Instead he snorted. "I don't think you did this to yourself, Captain."

"No." Jack agreed. "Someone else got involved."

There was silence, as the Brigadier finished fixing the head wound and dressed it. Then, kneeling in front of Jack, antiseptic in hand, he started wiping the blood off Jack's face, uncovering a nasty-looking cut on his forehead.

"If you were anyone else," Jack began, "I'd probably be making an inappropriate remark right now."

The Brigadier laughed shortly. "Aren't you glad I'm not?"

"Yes." Jack said quietly. He sounded tired to death, and for all that the Brigadier wished he was young again, he couldn't imagine what forty years of their kind of fighting, without any respite, would do.

"This probably needs stitches." he stated, knowing it was futile.

"It'll heal. Things either heal, or they kill you."

"Self pity doesn't suit you, Captain." he observed.

"Just an observation." That grin again.

"Right." he covered the cut with a plaster. "Take your shirt off."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Now I'm tempted to make an inappropriate remark anyway."

"Feel free, Captain. You're still taking your shirt off. I want to see those ribs that you were clutching earlier."

Jack began to unbutton his shirt. "I would have thought at your age you might have missed seeing some things." he complained.

"And how much older than me are you?" the Brigadier asked, as sweetly as he could.

There was a pause. "Some years." Jack wriggled out of his shirt and stood up. The Brigadier took note of the soft grunt of pain that accompanied every movement.

Jack's ribs were a mass of dark purple bruising. The Brigadier examined them painstakingly and, he was sure, painfully for Jack. "I think it's mostly just bruising. Maybe a couple cracked. I'll tape them up to be safe."

Jack nodded, finished his drink and, apparently absentmindedly, reached for the Brigadier's and drained that too. Alistair was fairly certain that, with the combination of pain, alcohol and exhaustion, Jack was getting close to drunk.

"Someone really didn't like you." he observed carefully when he had finished.

Jack paused in the midst of squirming back into his shirt and nodded again. "Do you remember when we first met?" he asked?

"I was just thinking about it." he replied, unsure where this was going.

"You said you'd like to have me shot. I guess if they had guns they would have too."

He said nothing, hoping that the silence was sympathetic, but poured them both another drink. After a moment Jack continued talking, seemingly to himself.

"If I was anyone else, I'd be dead right now. If Ianto had been on his own, he'd be dead. Except that, if Ianto had been on his own, there wouldn't have been a problem. They wouldn't have looked twice at him. It's all me. Always."

"You always were egotistical, Captain." he said, very calmly.

Jack looked round at him. The Brigadier was torn between amusement and concern to see that the usually self-possessed American was distinctly bleary-eyed. "What?"

"It isn't all about you. This young man of yours was presumably also responsible, by your thinking."

"He's not my young man." Jack finished his drink, reached over and poured himself another. The Brigadier considered stopping him, but contented himself with sipping slowly at his own glass. For a while, there was silence.

"Can I ask you something, Alistair?" Jack said suddenly. The Brigadier nodded. "If someone was hurting someone that you lo . . . someone that you were fond of, what would you do to them?"

The Brigadier held Jack's gaze levelly. "I'd want to destroy them." It was true. He had some idea of what Jack had been through tonight, and he knew that in similar circumstances – if, somehow, it had been he and Doris - he would have used every advantage a lifetime of combat experience had given him in order to punish whoever had dared to touch her. He resolved to avoid listening to the news for the next few days. Any unexplained murders in Cardiff were remaining unexplained, at least by him. And that was a crime in itself, a monstrous act. Men of violence, both of them.

"It was just because I kissed him." Jack said, almost in wonderment. "They attacked us because of a kiss. I've never been ashamed of who I kiss before."

Alistair cleared his throat. "Are you now?"

"He is." Jack's tone was worryingly flat. "He said I'm a monster."

"I've seen monsters."

"So has he."

Alistair couldn't think of anything to say. Jack's voice had been calm, even matter-of-fact, but his eyes . . . not for the first time, he found himself reminded of the Doctor. He cleared his throat. "You'd better stay here tonight. The couch is comfortable enough."

Jack looked at his watch. "Oh, shit. I'll need to leave in three hours if I'm going to be on time."

"I'll wake you." Alistair promised.

Jack didn't seem to notice that he was lying. "Thanks." He stretched, and immediately grabbed at his ribs. "Ow."

The Brigadier stood up and headed to the door. "I'll get the spare duvet."

It must have taken him a while to find it, because when he returned, Jack was lying stretched out on the couch, looking as if he'd been asleep for hours. The Brigadier's lips twitched slightly. He set the duvet down, and went about hauling Jack's boots off, eliciting nothing more than a slight groan. Then, he carefully removed Jack's gun and placed it in easy view on the coffee table, before covering him with the duvet.

"Goodnight, Captain." he said gruffly, and left the room.

  


By ten o'clock the next morning, sitting in the kitchen with a mug of tea and a very slight hangover, the Brigadier was wondering whether Jack was planning on staying on his sofa for the rest of the day. He had conscientiously woken the Captain once an hour, in order to reassure himself that there would be no lasting damage, but he'd never got more than a vague complaint, or once, a garbled, terrified, comment about daleks that had been quite enough to prevent him from sleeping the rest of the night. Some nightmares he had no wish to relive. When Doris had risen about seven, he had explained the situation to her as best he could. Thankfully, her naturally sympathetic personality had won out over her annoyance at the fate of her begonias and she'd spent the morning tiptoeing around, to avoid waking Jack. She'd always been fond of the Captain, and his charming ways, and it always took him an effort to remind himself, that Jack didn't mean anything by it, and there was absolutely no reason to punch his lights out. After all, Jack would flirt with a Sontaran, if it was all that was available. Not that he was comparing his wife to a Sontaran . . .

Speak of the devil . . . he looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway, hair sticking up all over the place. "It's late." he yawned accusatorily.

"You needed the sleep." The Brigadier told him.

"I don . . .yeah, perhaps." Jack ran a hand through his hair, leaving it in an even worse state than before. If he was a weaker man, the Brigadier might have ran for his camera.

Just then, Doris bustled in from the garden. "Captain Harkness, you're awake!" She sounded delighted, and Alistair watched as Jack bent down slightly to receive a kiss on the cheek. "Alistair, you should have said at once. Sit down, and I'll fix some breakfast for you. Bacon and eggs alright?"

"That would be lovely, thank you Doris. And please, call me Jack." He sat down at the dining table, opposite the Brigadier. The two of them sat in silence, watching as Doris fixed breakfast, and when she sat down with them, her and Alistair drinking tea, watching Jack eat, the three of them talked of inconsequentialities and old, happy memories. Such a contrast to last night. He watched Jack throw his head back in laughter, and wondered if he could suggest that Jack should take a few days off. The world would probably survive.

Later, when Jack had gone to take a shower, and he was doing the washing up, Doris had brought Jack's mobile phone which was singing a merry little tune. She looked at him anxiously. It probably wasn't anything more than Jack's team demanding to know where he was. But it _could_ be an emergency. Sighing, he pressed a button, not quite at random, and gingerly held it to his ear.

"Never know how to work these things.." he muttered, then, feeling silly "Hello?" No answer. "Anyone there?"

If he concentrated, he could hear breathing, just a little too fast, just a little too harsh. He strained to hear more and suddenly there was a musical voice in the background, wors just a little too perfectly formed to be human. "You will put your hands up and accompany me."

He was running up the stairs to get Jack even before the line went dead.

* * *

Tellin me what you think makes me happy. 


	4. Chapter 4

The Brigadier chased after Jack as he headed to the car outside, coat billowing and hair still dripping from the shower. "You need to slow down. Wait for backup." Alistair argued desperately, futilely.

Jack spun round to face him, car keys in his hand. "Backup? From who? We're practically the only field team left in Torchwood, and you _know_ how long it takes UNIT to agree to help us. My people'd be dead long before the General had finished arguing with Geneva."

Alistair winced; he hadn't realised quite how badly-off Torchwood was these days, and he was pretty sure Jack hadn't actually meant to tell him. That was the sort of thing that was normally covered by their 'do not discuss' pact. And Jack was right about UNIT too. He hated it when Jack was right.

There was only one option left. He wasn't going to let Jack go off on his own – he couldn't even do that if Jack was fully healthy. Friendship counted for something after all, and a lifetime of duty counted for even more. Wondering exactly when he'd lost his mind, he said "Alright, but I'm driving. You still look like you'd fall over in a stiff breeze." He saw Jack open his mouth to argue, knowing that Jack didn't want him to come, and knowing equally well that Jack would die on his own, and added sharply. "I can still call UNIT you know. I'm sure they'd love an excuse to detain you. Get all the latest Torchwood information."

Jack took a deep breath and, with a scowl, threw him the car keys. He let his smirk hide the fact that he wasn't at all sure if this was a good idea. Here he was, at the age of seventy-four preparing to go into battle again.

Someone coughed behind him. Ah. He slowly turned to confront Doris standing in the doorway, arms folded. He i knew /i that Jack was smirking now. "I need to go." he said, gruffly, hoping she would understand.

"I know." she said simply. Bless her. She held his coat out to him and he took it, registering the weight of his gun in the pocket. "Be safe." Her eyes flicker past him, to Jack. "Both of you." He kissed her then, in a way that was probably undignified at their age.

"I'll be back in time for dinner." he promised, breathlessly.

She just nodded, and pulled away from him. Of course, they both knew she'd heard it all before, just as they both knew he always meant it at the time. He watched as she stepped back inside and closed the door. Then he turned away, and didn't look back.

Sliding into the driver's seat, he studied the strange instruments attached haphazardly to the dashboard, and throughout the rest of the vehicle. He was pretty sure that, whatever the adverts claimed, automobile technology hadn't advanced this far.

"Was any of this car actually made on Earth?" he asked dryly.

Jack, reaching into the backseat for one of the inexplicable devices, just grinned.

"Arming the earth against the future indeed." the Brigadier muttered. "I think you lot just like playing with things you don't understand."

After a couple of false starts, he was able to ease the behemoth out of the drive. Jack made no comment, fortunately, and the Brigadier soon got caught up in the task of keeping the car moving in a straight line.

"Fuck." Hearing Jack swear, the Brigadier looked round, taking his eyes off the road for a couple of perilous seconds. "The tracking system on the SUV computer is offline."

"That'll be the hills." the Brigadier said absently, easing the car back onto the right side of the road. "We don't even get channel five."

"But this thing was built for _Wales_!" Jack whined.

"Wrong sort of hills?" Alistair offered. "What were you trying to do?"

He heard the sound of Jack tossing the scanner-thing back onto the back seat, and settling back into the seat, with a small grunt of pain. "We've got a way to track where everyone is, by homing in on the signal from our mobiles, or headsets. Except it won't work"

"Useful." He ignored the frustration in Jack's voice for the moment. So many situations he could remember when he would have killed for that technology. So many situations when maybe he wouldn't have had to kill if he'd had that technology.

Jack snarled and banged his fist against the car door. "It _would_ be useful, yes." Perhaps he should have let Jack drive. It would have given him something to do besides worry. But he made it a rule not to let a man get behind the wheel of a car before he was reasonably sure he could walk in a straight line.

"Alright Captain, let's talk scenarios here; what do we know?" He already knew they didn't know anything, but idle speculation was better than sitting in a car for two hours with Jack in this mood.

"Something or someone has Ianto. Might have the rest of the team as well, no way of knowing. Alien, from what you said. Speaks English, so that rules out our resident weevil population. Didn't just shoot immediately so that rules out . . . a lot of people. You said the voice was a little too perfect, so they're probably using a translation program."

"Best case scenario?" he asked, crisply

"Ianto's already been rescued by the others, and they're back at the Hub, drinking coffee and bitching. Unlikely."

"Worst case scenario?" he asked, wishing he didn't have to.

"Hostile aliens have taken over the Hub, are torturing my team and have opened the Rift." Jack's voice was bleak. It was obvious that this possibility had occurred to him, many times before.

"The Rift?" he asked, looking for some sort of distraction.

"Bit difficult to explain . . . .think of it as an energy gateway that shouldn't be opened under any circumstances."

Bingo. Starting an argument was a way of passing any journey fraught with tension. "You mean like a doorway between our world and one inhabited with Cybermen? Or a prison ship full of Daleks?"

He heard Jack's sharp intake of breath, and felt the glare that came his way. "Yes. Or, say a hole to the molten core of the Earth." Jack said, sweetly.

Ouch. It was Alistair's turn to wince. They passed the next twenty minutes bringing up every occasion on which their respective organisations had come close to destroying the planet. God, with defenders like them, Earth didn't need any invaders.

Finally, Jack gave up, and after twenty seconds of sulking, went back to fiddling with the scanner. After a couple of minutes he gave a crow of delight.

"What have you got, Captain?" the Brigadier asked quickly.

"Looks like they're on the edge of town . . . .just a minute . . . according to the street plan, it's some sort of construction site . . . wait . . . " He swore loudly. "All the signals are within a square foot." He threw the scanner down in apparent disgust.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, either they decided to have an orgy at ten in the morning, or someone took their mobiles off them." Out of the corner of his eye, the Brigadier could see Jack rubbing at the dressing on his head. He hoped it would hold. "Wonder if they'd agree to let me implant tracking devices in them." Jack muttered. "We picked up a surgical tool the other week, would do it in a couple of seconds."

The Brigadier made a show of considering it. Actually, he wasn't totally convinced it was a bad idea. "Shouldn't think so. Probably some sort of human rights issue."

"Yeah. Isn't everything these days?"

"Perhaps if you did it while they were asleep." he suggested lips twitching.

"Good idea. I'll give it a try." Jack sounded a little distracted so the Brigadier risked taking his eyes off the road again, and looked over just in time to see Jack pull a couple of pairs of sunglasses out of the glove compartment with a look of triumph. "Here. Put these on."

He did as Jack asked before he asked why. He was rewarded with a long-suffering look. "We're about to turn in to the sun. I don't want us to hit anything."

"Then why are you wearing a pair." he asked suspiciously.

"We're driving a black car packed with alien technology on an urgent rescue mission and you're asking why I'm wearing sunglasses? You need to watch more films, Alistair."

And Jack was grinning, the Brigadier knew that without looking, that particular grin that meant that he was hiding something. "Jack, if you're not up to this, I need to know now."

"Just got a bit of a headache. Think it was the whiskey." Right. It was the whiskey, not the head wound. Of course. Old soldiers never die, but they never learn when to quit either. "Look, just keep heading down the motorway to Cardiff, and I'll navigate from there, ok?"

"Understood." It wasn't like there was much choice.

They drove in silence for a time. Alistair found himself wondering if any of this technology could pick up Radio Four. Jack was playing with yet another of the – possibly alien – devices that littered the backseat.

"Great." This device too, got thrown back, as though it was junk. "When this is over, I'm going to have a long chat about which procedures we can ignore, and which we can't. It might take a few weeks. We can hang one of those signs on the edge of the Rift, saying Closed for Staff Training."

"What's up?" The Brigadier was jarred out of his contemplation of the tragedy of missing the i Archers /i omnibus.

"They didn't leave a record on the computer of where they were going, and why."

"Who'd normally do that." he asked, already sure of the answer. Jack knew as much about delegating as he did.

"Well, I would. But they should have thought of it. I can't always be there."

Silence again. And Alistair knew what was coming, because it was what he would be thinking, if their roles were reversed.

"I should have been there." There it was. Jack continued in a low, anguished voice. "What the hell was I doing, running away just because . . . running from the truth. Ianto was right, I am a coward."

'Your Ianto doesn't know you very well.' Alistair thought, privately. But there were more important matters right now. "You were right the first time, Captain – you can't always be there."

"But if I'd been there . . . " _But if I'd been there, it would have been better. But if I'd been quicker this one wouldn't have died. But if I'd been clever we could have saved everyone_. He knew, as Jack did, that train of thought led nowhere, except sleepless nights and empty whisky bottles.

He interrupted quickly. "Your team . . . are they any good?"

Jack answered, sounding puzzled. "They're the best. A little odd, but I'd trust them with my life."

'Oh yes, and how much is that worth?' Alistair thought to himself. Out loud he asked "Then what makes you think, Captain, that they'd have done anything other than send you home, looking like you do?"

Jack exhaled, shakily. "You're right. Sorry, I'm being a twat."

The Brigadier snorted. "Did you just say twat? Dear god, you really are going native."

"You know what they say, when in Rome, do the Romans." The Brigadier decided to avoid talking to Jack for a while.

They passed a road sign. Cardiff, twenty miles.

"Do we have a plan?" the Brigadier found himself asking.

"Reconnoitre, shoot anything hostile, save my people."

Alistair nodded. "Great plan." A seventy-four year old, and a man with concussion off to save the day. Didn't matter what their plan was, they were fucked anyway. At least they were wearing sunglasses.


End file.
